Please, tell me your favorite color
by Hivir
Summary: John gets to know his new flatmate better but he will never understand Sherlock's fiancé. I noticed in kink-memes that everything I ever wanted to write, were requested in the old ones... I don't own BBC Sherlock or Doyle's work.
1. Chapter 1

"Girlfriend... no, not really my area."

"... Alright. Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way..."

"I know it's fine", Sherlock answers, but John sees from his eyes he doesn't believe what he says. Not that it's surprise, the detective seems to know a lot about crimes and solving them, but deducing other person's causes... John smiles gently.

"So you have a boyfriend", he asks once more.

"Yes. Well...technically his my fiancé. But yes, I do have a boyfriend."

John froze for a second. _Yes? _He looks at Sherlock again and sees that the detective is tense like a bow - what - _oh_

"Alright then", he said after a second, "So... Tell me about him."

Sherlock turned his gaze back to John, frown still settled firmly on his brows.

"Tell about him?"

John shuffled a bit and shrugged, trying to ignore the spark of heartbreaking hopefulness in Sherlock's voice. He could only assume a history with homophobia. ('Okay, John, getting this right is extra important now, if you still want that flat...')

"You know, the things people usually tell. His name, what's his job... How you met and so on."

Sherlock's face relaxed and his left hand uncurled under the table.

"I suppose it all begun with a picnic..."

* * *

_The day was bright, as if the gods had decided to make Sherlock miserable. Not that he hated the warmness and all the things what summers were meant to be, but it was difficult to stay still when he silently fought the urge to chase the butterflies around him. He was trying to give a proper sulk about the fact he had been forced to leave his books for this picnic, but then again, he had known the date for weeks._

_The mother and son waited under a large tree (Quercus robur, Sherlock pointed out) that the Trevors would arrive; they were a bit late, and Mrs. Holmes noticed her son was getting quite fidgety over the time they stood there. She tried to ask for the reason - was he too hot, should he drink some water - but didn't get any answers (apart from the impatient huffs) and she shrugged. Maybe he was just restless._

_Finally they saw a woman and her ten-year-old son, picnic basket swinging between them, jog towards their direction. _

* * *

"... that our mothers arranged together. They arranged our friendship, actually."

* * *

_The boy approached Sherlock almost immediately and stuck his warm hand to Sherlock's grassy hand._

_"Hi. What's your name?", the brown-haired boy asked after he shook their hands for them._

_"Sherlock", said his confused new acquaintance , "my name is Sherlock."_

_The green-eyed boy beside him seemed excited._

_"S-H-E-R-L-O-C-K, right? Sherlock, Sher-lock", he repeated many times, until he stopped. "Yes. I think like your name." _

_"... Thank you."_

_"I'm Victor."_

* * *

John halted his fork as he processed the sentence he just heard. Arranged friendship, was that something people still did? Sherlock noticed but he didn't comment.

"We and our mothers met every Sunday in our nearby park and usually we had a day-long picnic... Our mothers were utterly delighted of the fact we tolerated each other, but Victor and I overachieved as usually. I mean, we became friends, eventually."

* * *

_Two Sundays later they fed the ducks, side by side, in consensual silence. Suddenly Sherlock had the need to break it and he coughed politely to get Victors attention._

_"My mom said that you are different too," he said and glanced at the boy next to him. Victor let a tiny giggle, like he did now and then._

_"I guess that's us versus the world from now on," he gave his answer, in all earnest._

_Sherlock met his gaze and smiled._

_"Yeah, I think I'd like that." _

* * *

One cab stopped and they ran through the London.


	2. Chapter 2

After the 'Study in Pink', as John later called the case in his blog, they went to eat some Chinese. Sherlock apparently knew how to clean a ridiculous amount of noodles and cabbage off his plate in seven minutes. John just shook his head in amusement, but silently the doctor in him wished his new flat-mate remembered to chew his food while wolfing it down. Performing a Heimlich maneuver could be awkward.

"This Victor of yours", he starts, "what does he think of you getting a flatmate?"

Sherlock turns his lazy gaze to John's direction.

"I mean, how come he isn't the one you live with? What if he thinks I'm..."

Sherlock snorts.

"Nah", he smirked, "If I know him at all, he'll ask your name and your favorite color. Then he knows what kind of a man you are."

* * *

_The picnic blanket was warm under them, even when the parts where the tree casted a patchy shadow. Victor's mother drank tea and listened what Sherlock's mom spoke about her knitting projects, but they both were prepared to interrupt their sons. Victor's mother knew her son got sometimes too intense with his curiosity and Sherlock's mom knew her son got sometimes too aggressive with his words._

_"So, what's your favorite color", they heard Victor's voice ask Sherlock, who had captured a bumblebee between his cupped palms. The boy raised his head and turned his silvery eyes to meet the green ones. His gaze was thoughtful._

_"I haven't decided yet. I like the color of polished wood, though."_

* * *

"My favorite color?" John sounds confused.

"He does that. He'll ask your name and your favorite color and he knows if he likes you or if he'll ignore you forever. He wouldn't hate you because of it, though."

John isn't sure if Sherlock is joking or if this Victor is just eccentric one as well.

* * *

_Shuffling sound. Bumblebee released from its dark prison. _

_"I can show you my favorite color. Look, I have a piece of amber here." Victor showed Sherlock the smallish clod of amber he always carried in his pocket. They walked to the spot where the shadow ended and brightness begun. Victor raised the piece of amber a little higher than their eyes and tilted his head._

_"You do the same now. Can you see it?"_

* * *

"So he's fine with us sharing a flat", John asks again. He wants to be sure and he really doesn't want to end up with broken nose.

"We spoke about when I needed to get a flat. Actually, he was the one to tell me to get some company and stop harassing him with my nightly phone calls."

* * *

_Sherlock did the same and then he saw it. His eyes widened with wonder and his mom even heard a tiny gasp escape from his lips._

_"Yeah! Not quite gold, not quite yellow, not quite brown, not quite orange and not quite honey either. What _is_ that color?" _

_Victor smiled a smile of two conspirators and hid the piece of amber to his pocket again. _

_"I have recently taken a habit to call that color 'sherlock'."_

* * *

When Victor visits 221B Baker Street next Sunday, he smiles that same unique smile again when he sees the color of their living room wallpaper. Sherlock notices and smiles back.

"I now call that color 'victor'."

John cringes at the statement that he thinks is bad flirting.


	3. Chapter 3

John heard the two men bicker in kitchen when he entered the door to 221B. He sighs and throws an apologetical look to Lestrade and his drugs bust team. They didn't even know that Sherlock was engaged to marry a man - a real, living _man_. He ran the stairs up, up, up and knocked the door.

"Sherlock, there's a drugs bust waiting behind this door", he shouted and soon he met Victor's curious eyes looking at him full of questions.

"Oh, policemen", he asked, voice soaked with wonder, "how exciting!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and suppressed a smirk.

"You are _so_ easily amused, ", he said, using a cutesy lilt to annoy the always-so-cheerful man. However, his attempt was abnormally off. DI Lestrade walked to the kitchen and told Sherlock about the drugs bust, as usual - '...and God knows, _God knows_, Sherlock that if we find anything...' - and the detective didn't listen to him, as usual. Then DI Lestrade spun around.

"And you, Mr..."

"Victor Trevor, if you are asking my name, sir. What's your name?"

"Uhm, I'm Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade and..." He was interrupted by Victor.

"Greg, short from Gregory? So, you use Grrrrrrrrrr-eg, and not Grrrre-gory. I see."

Silence. Victor didn't notice and continued to eat his food, as he had been doing before he and Sherlock started their tiff. Donovan and Anderson poked their heads through the door and stared openly at them.

"What did you do to that poor sod, Freak?", Anderson sounded actually frightened. Sherlock winced. He wanted to protect both his Victor and himself from the accusations, but how could he possibly - Victor's shoulders tensed.

"He wouldn't have any victims. Of any crimes, if you please, sir, ma'am." he was very polite, like his mother always had told him to be, but at the same time he kept in mind what Sherlock had sounded when he'd told Victor.

* * *

_"They do call me names", he admitted after Victor pressured him enough. The brown-haired one threw his hands tightly around Sherlock. He squeezed so hard that it would have asphyxiated anyone else, but to Sherlock the force of his hugs told always the same thing. 'Can I hear the blood in his arteria subclavia sinistra? Shhhhh... Yes, there's the sound. That's _his_ blood and _his_ beating heart. I am safe.' _

_"What do they call you?"_

_Sherlock sighed a little at his Victor. Why was he always asking the things he wanted to erase from his memory, to delete?_

_"Freak, psychopath, nutcase, loon, oddball... Such things," he heard himself tell anyway._

_"But... your mind is so beautiful, why do they fear it?" Victor asks aloud. Sherlock shakes his head and looks directly into his beloved one's eyes._

_"They are not afraid for themselves, but for their secrets."_

* * *

The Met succeeded to dig into their search of "drugs" and Sherlock was harboring a nasty headache in corners of his mind. It was Sunday. Sundays were for ducks and blankets and Victor, not for Anderson and Donovan and Lestrade's "fatherly" caring. Sundays were not for searching the drugs he didn't have anymore. Maybe he should...

Never mind, he thought, when he heard Victor roar angrily from the kitchen.

"Stop calling him such foul names! Who are you anyway, what's your name?"

"I am Stig Anderson, and I work in forensic team of New Sc..."

"Stig, Sttttiiig, S-T-I-G, Stiggy-tiggy-dee. I don't like it, sounds kinda like a stick."

* * *

_On Sherlock's fifteenth birthday they were again having a picnic, in the same spot as always. They never changed the spot from under the tree and they never let the ducks get hungry. Sherlock waved his long fingers in front of his face, measuring the movements... He suddenly stopped his current string of thought, because he wanted to know._

_"Victor? Has there ever been a name you haven't liked?"_

_"Yeah, the nasty ones. You know our art teacher, Mr. Howland? His first name is _Carson_."_

_"Why is that name so bad in your opinion?"_

_"Carcinogens, carbon monoxide..."_

_"Oh."_

* * *

Sherlock stifled a laughter, but then he saw one of Lestrade's men approach his secret, the second drawer from top. He felt a rush of panic flash through his spine.

"Don't open it", he heard himself yelp, but of course that would only attract Lestrade's and John's attention. John frowned.

"What, why? Is _that_ where hid that horrible experiment of yours?" Ah, of course that would be John's first thought. Lestrade however nods to the man, coaxing him to open the drawer.

Two silver wedding rings ting in their velvet box and Sherlock has difficulties to speak because Victor hugs him so very tightly.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Warnings: dominatrix-y and sexy things ;) Also embarrassingly short.

* * *

The dominatrix leaves Sherlock under John's care, drugged and slurring his words like a drunk. John gives up and calls Victor to help him with the Baker Street Disaster.

"A dominatrix", Victor asks odd angry voice, "a dominatrix, you say?"

"It's for a case", John says, hoping to calm his flat-mate's fiancé... husband at least a bit.

"Yeah, yeah, but why on Earth has it to be a dominatrix? Sherlock's already so demanding in bed, I don't need him to get any ideas!"

John splutters at Victor with alarmed, big eyes. The man, however, is oblivious to his interlocutor's shock and carries on his disturbing patter.

"I would be even more scared to hurt him, you know? He doesn't use our safe word often, and that makes me always so shaken when he uses it! What if he makes me to hurt him so badly that he can't remember the word?"

John coughs awkwardly.

"It works both ways. If you want to stop doing the thing you do, you say the safe word and the action stops. It's not just his private word, you know."

* * *

_Victor thinks Sherlock's words and twirls the ring in his hands. He nods._

_"Actually his name sounds like a warning... Is it a warning? Maybe it is a warning."_

_Sherlock smirks mischievously. _

_"You know what? From now on we'll use it as our safe word."_

_Victor snickers and puts his engagement ring on._

* * *

"Oh yeah, I remember now! He said 'our safe word', not 'his'. Thank you John."

They hear a groan from Sherlock's bedroom and soon the semiconscious detective staggers to the living room. He throws himself at Victor and gives the man a goofy smile.

"Hi, Vickie-moo", Sherlock slurs happily, "where di'ya come from? Oh, dun' answer, I want to image...imaginate... no, imagine tha' you used Ande'son as your steeeeeed!"

"Oh, you need to get back to bed, Shelley-bee! What nasty woman she was, giving drugs to you, just like that", Victor cooed to his tripping fiancé. John's face reached unique shades of purple when he continued to choke on his laughter.

"Sometimes rugs... no, no, drugs! Drugs are nice, Vicksie-bug," Sherlock hums, "they make me feel like I'm normal!"

* * *

_"I have always known I'm different", Sherlock confessed, "but since I was seven years old... It's just... Asperger's isn't what we are, it just tells the 'normals' what kind of different we are!"_

_A long silence settles between them and they continue to throw crumbled bread to the ducks. The only sounds are quaking and the distant tinkling from wind chimes, but they floated in their silence as if it was a wonderful bubble bath. They adored those kind of silences (and several others too, but that's a different story) The therapists and doctors used to call all of their silences 'incompetent verbal communication' in their medical texts. _

_"I have decided long time ago that I hate normal. Maybe because I love being different", Victor mused, sounding poetic._

_"What, why?" Sherlock asks confused._

_"Because like you said, you are the same kind of different as I am. If you weren't, I'd be alone. I love you, therefore I love being different." _

* * *

"If the drugs make you feel like you're normal, wouldn't that make you see how bad they are?"

"I can't see aaaaanything", Sherlock murmurs, "and I still donut... don't have the data that could explain what am I doing in a ship."

"Lay down, no, no there's a sofa to your left! Alright, my silly Lockie, there you go... You will be back to your different self when the evil drugs leave your body."

Sherlock moans pitifully and covers his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Oh god how depressing.**

* * *

Victor pokes his _digitus quintus_ to Sherlock's ear and giggles a little.

"What?" Sherlock smiles and John, who drinks his tea, watches the two newly weds with everlasting awe and wonder. Victor pinches Sherlock's earlobe and giggles again.

"You still have him on top of your mantelpiece!" he shouts and sits down.

'Ah, Mr. Skully,' John thinks, 'maybe I finally will hear your story.'

The detective huffs into his coffee and rolls his eyes.

"Of course I still have him, actually he makes a great listener now days."

"Now when he's dead, you mean? No vocal cords and what so ever?"

"Absolutely", Sherlock smirks, "poor Reggie did the 'shut up'- part exceptionally well but the 'and listen'-part he generally failed completely."

John feels like an outsider, but Victor smirks at him and pokes Sherlock once again.

"You see, John, the _good_ Reggie Musgrave was Sherlock's first boyfriend."

"Oh", John says sounding astonished, "what happened?"

"He died. Injected himself with nasty, nasty drugs and went totally bonkers. Fell down the stairs and broke his neck," Victor grunts.

"I still fail to notice the amusing part of the story", Sherlock murmurs disapprovingly at his husband.

"It wasn't your cocaine that killed him, you bungling, your stash was untouched when Reggie was found dead."

"Where are you getting at?"

"For God's sakes, Sherlock! All the pain he caused you..."

* * *

_"...he truly is sorry!"_

_The two men walked past the glaring group of teenagers and pitying old women, and Reggie smiles a smile so fake... So that's Regg's version of smiling apologetically, Sherlock thought sarcastically and stared at him._

_"You know, my brother does exactly the same thing", he hissed angrily at his boyfriend._

_"What are you talking about?"_

_"Yes, when he's too tired to deal with me, it's easier to tell other people 'sorry, Sherlock's got Asperger's, he doesn't really understand' than to ignore them and tell me to change my behavior."_

* * *

"... including that he let you think that _you _had killed him..."

"And pray tell, what did kill him", Sherlock whispers, "if it wasn't my drugs?"

"He used LSD! God, the rehab didn't restore your memory, did it? L-S-D, Sherlock, that makes people bonkers. That night Reggs took his normal dose but something went wrong. He went totally crazy and fell down twenty-seven steps on a mahogany staircase because he was chasing something. Or thought that he was being chased, who knows."

* * *

_"He said I should thank him."_

_"Thank him! You know what", Victor explodes, "if you don't fight for your freedom, I will!"_

_"I deserve freedom?"_

_"Oh for...You deserve all the freedom I'd be able to give you, my friend. You are something that belongs to the sky anyway. You are... you are the wind and you cannot be trapped to Earth like this."_

* * *

Sherlock hides his face to his husband's shoulder and John sighs melancholically. The story was darker than he thought.

"And what", the detective presses, "might the amusing part be?"

"Oh Sher", Victor bemoans, "you probably can't see it. It's the thing... All the pain - the belittling, the attempts to subjugate you, the bruises - he caused you, you still love him. Yes, you still love him! You kept his skull."

"... I... It's actually quite comfortless and desperate that I feel like I still owe him something", Sherlock confesses, speaking so rapidly that John almost doesn't catch the words.

* * *

_"You should protect yourself", Victor said sorrowfully, "Sherlock, look at yourself! I can't... You... Please, protect yourself against him! Please, for me."_

_Sherlock shook his head. His expression was perfectly composed to look stoic, but desperate tears were forming in his eyes and his bruised lip trembled a bit._

_"I can't! I have to let him, don't you understand? I have to, for the silence that comes afterwards."_

_"If you only want silence to your head, then use the drugs you have hidden in your pockets. Please. Even they are safer than Musgrave."_

* * *

"No, no, Shy-bubbles. I find it just a tad silly", Victor says confidently, " because you have me now! You have my respect and love so you shouldn't waste your already so meticulously rationed emotions on a skull. That's the thing that amuses me. A skull."

Sherlock smiles eventually and raises his gaze.

"My blushes, Mr. Trevor-Holmes! You... obviously have my respect and love too, and I'll happily promise you my loyalty as well. You'll have to share the amount of my friendship-feels with John, though."

Three heartfelt giggles burst into air and fade away when Sherlock's phone lets a tiny 'bling' - a signal for a new case. Three forgotten cups of cold tea stand on a mantelpiece, where a fallen man's skull continues its favorite hobby, gathering dust.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Here's a one shorty, after this you should get ready for You-Know-What.

* * *

"I don't have _friends_", Sherlock snarls and Victor lets a sigh escape from his lips.

"Lower your spikes, porcupine! Tell, what do you mean."

Sherlock's hands shake and he looks at them disappointedly. Sentiment and weakness... Ctrl + alt + delete. Select all, delete. No signal, please try again.

Damn it all!

"I only have one. Ergo, one can't say I have _friends_."

John has ordered a glass of whiskey and offers it to Sherlock, who takes it gratefully. With two gulps the glass is empty.

"Actually do I have friends?" Sherlock mutters slightly bitterly "I have a husband. There are people around me, but do I have any _friends_?"

"You have John. Before I turned into your fiancé, I was your best friend. You said so yourself - I'll have to share your friendship-feels with John now."

* * *

_Victor looked at the sky, his intensive gaze burning holes to the clouds. _

_"Do you believe in God, Sherlock?" he asked, eyes still focused to the sky._

_Sherlock spat to the ground and wiped the corners of his mouth on Victor's sleeve._

_"No, not anymore," he answered slightly grudgingly and twirled a lock of his hair around his thumb. Victor nodded and surrendered to a moment of 'listening-to-the-rainy-city' -silence._

_Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The storm hammered the copper roofs and stray cats meowed. Sherlock breathed. Victor breathed. Never a whole silence..._

_"Why?"_

_"No god would allow me to heaven... and I don't want to burn in Hell for eternity."_

* * *

Sherlock raises his gaze to look at John. He is very lost - where are his brilliant, sharp brains when they really are needed? _They were eaten by a hound - no, no, no, not that foolishness again! My mind is slipping away, and all that will be left of me is just a lift out of order, please use the stairs. They are so slippery, so slippery... Broke your neck like Reginald Musgrave did! Hound hound hound hound woof woof woofs and it howls too. _Shut up.

'My God, he looks like a scared child', the doctor gasps silently in his mind and his shoulders tense as Sherlock suddenly raises from his seat.

"John", the detective whispers, "are you... are you my friend? "

* * *

_Victor's smile was so wide that it almost broke his jaw, but Sherlock couldn't but join his fiancé's joy with flashing his dimples for a second._

_"What is he like, then?"_

_"He is an army doctor and..."_

_"No, no, tell me the things that matter!"_

_"He is patient and he makes nice tea too. He said 'no' to Mycroft's money and he helped me to solve the crime. He is going to stay, I think."_

_Victor nodded happily and told Sherlock not to reveal the name of this new flatmate. He loves a good surprise, after all._

* * *

"Yes, Sherlock. We are friends," John says with a non-nonsense voice, using a small amount of his respect-me-that'sanorder -effect to strengthen his message. _'How does he not know - oh, the case with Sebastian Wilkes... I see'_

Victor kisses Sherlock's cheek and pushes a new glass of whiskey to his lips.

"You heard him, my Shelley-sherbet. You have John as a good friend and then, you always have me. Don't you forget that, you huge brain!"

"Technically, that still isn't friends", Sherlock insists stubbornly, and his husband makes a sound familiar to horse's neigh.

"Yes, yes! Jesus, you and your 'technically'... _Practically, _if you don't finally shut up of this topic, you will not have any of my endearments... for a week!"

A horrified look crosses Sherlock's face and John hides his emerging smirk behind an indispensable glass full of alcohol.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks for the nice reviews! Alright, in this chapter is the *gasp* Reichenbach Fall. But does it go as Moriarty has planned? *dun dun dun* This chapter has the length of a hiking trail, too ;-)**

* * *

_"And what does that mean, Victor?"_

_ To that, a smiling Victor leaned towards Sherlock and laid a very curious ear upon his ribs. His smile drops after few second._

_"Sherlock! You don't have a heart, Sherlock!" _

_The boy laughed so hard, it sounded to Victor like it could start an earthquake. Maybe it was because he still had his ear pressed to Sherlock's body._

_"You are listening to my right side, you idiot. My heart is on the left."_

_"Thank God, you gave me a fright. I thought you weren't alive."_

_"And how", Sherlock asked mischievously, "could I have spoken to you while I was dead?"_

_"If I'd have gone mad and imagined your voice."_

* * *

"Boffin! Boffin Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock rereads the tabloid to Victor, causing the man collapse to sofa in a fit of laughter.

"Boffin..." he cackles like a madman, "oh, God! If they'd know you even a bit, they'd call you The Trotting Holmes instead."

Sherlock raises an incredibly elegant and incredibly questioning eyebrow.

"Trotting?"

"You know... 'Oh, a clue, come along!' and then we trot through the continent. Even without any shoes and trousers, if we are not lucky..." Victor reminds the detective of a one early morning, not more than a month before.

John nods. "I agree, sometimes our work is more running than brainwork..."

"And when you take the lead, my love", Victor smiles shortly at Sherlock, "the speed is quite something. Please, if you could in future... John and I have shorter legs than you."

The detective huffs a supposedly offended sigh, but even John can see the amusement oozing from his lanky form.

"If you insist... Bachelor John Watson... Ha, I'm almost inquisitive to find out _your _'tabloid nickname', Victor."

The man in question snorts and throws a pillow at his husband.

"I can see that they'd probably call me The Dust Bunny..." he starts but can't finish, because Sherlock's flatmate stares at him so very questioningly. Does he always do that?

"I teach history at a secondary school in Harrow", he explains and John nods understandingly.

"Poor kids", Sherlock mutters jokingly and earns once more a pillow storm at him.

* * *

_"... and on 7th February 1542, Catherine Howard was -"_

_"Could you please do that silently?"_

_Victor looked up from his book and saw Sherlock hiding his head between four pillows, attempting to block Victor's voice. _

_"Sorry! Sorry, I just..." Victor stuttered, closing the book, "I really am sorry!"_

_"It's fine, I'm fine. Just... just a bit less, please?"_

* * *

After few days comes a disaster and after being bailed out, Sherlock walks silently and occasionally kicks a small stone, imagining it to be Moriarty's head. Not guilty. Only time would tell if London would fall...

Or a cup of tea, that could tell it too. Victor knows, he always knows, and he is very worried of Sherlock.

"Why'd you let him in, Sherlock? He has a plan and there is no way he wouldn't act to it."

The detective lets a stressed groan and pulls his own hair.

"Because I won't let him win!"

The things escalate. They always do, just like Victor always knows everything Sherlock has gone and done, things always escalate. At least when the 'thing' is about Sherlock Holmes.

Victor wants to help and he even offers to talk to the girl, knowing that Sherlock would just agitate the young kidnap-survivor. Sherlock sometimes had that effect on people, making them feel uncomfortable... Yes, he definitely would do the talking part.

"Sherlock. Write down the questions, I'll ask them", he says to his own genius and smiles. John shoots an approving look, maybe he was thinking something similar too.

"What, why?"

Lestrade nods at Victor, also approving the plan. To let a Sherlock Holmes among the children was like sending a lion to a cage full of sheep.

"Fine", the detective huffs angrily and scribbles the questions down with horrible chicken scratches - made on purpose, to protest against such a coup d'état.

Taking the pad of paper, Victor opens the door and walks in. He takes two steps and with a high-pitched _sreaaaaaaam_, he is forced back to the corridor. Sherlock looks up and doesn't know whether to laugh or to be worried - '_Well, well, look who's good with children!_' - and Lestrade closes the door, leaving the screaming kid inside the dimmed room. Victor slumps to a chair and grabs an apple, listening to the DI's reassuring piffle.

* * *

_Sherlock laid on a picnic blanket and ate his 11th birthday cake with a fork. He munched his mouthful quickly to ask his friend something important. _

_"Do you have it in your mind too?"_

_"Hm?"_

_"Anger."_

_Sherlock's mom stopped knitting and Victor's mother halted the hand that held a cup of tea. The two women were frozen to an admittedly awkward looking pose. The brown-haired boy didn't notice. Instead, he whistled a short tune. _

_"Of course", he answered and whistled the same tune again, "sometimes it feels like my brain is made of anger."_

_Sherlock grabbed a lollipop and sticked it into his mouth. Apple, quite sour. Sour is delightful. Onions too. Onions and apples in union. Now, that would be heaven._

_"My anger has a color", he mumbles around the lollypop and a sugary drop escapes from his mouth. _

_Victor watched with mild fascination when a pair of ants got interested with the apple-flavored spit, but eventually he had to remove the bag of unclaimed lollies away from the insects' path. Just in case, if the ants would call a whole nest to feast with their sweets..._

_"A color? Please tell me more", he said with interest, trying to forget the threat of losing their unhealthy lunches._

_"White. My anger is white."_

_Victor pales a bit and he turned to look at his friend._

_"What happens when your anger is white?" he asked._

_"I don't know. When the white fades, I'm inside a carpet."_

_"Like a tortilla," Victor said, nodding knowingly._

* * *

Sherlock holds Victor for a long time. Actually, they don't move an inch when they look the news for five times - John is there too, bringing tea for them. 'But let the tea flow like water and biscuits, like an unfailing stream', the detective hums in his mind, pinching himself for misquoting his mother's favorite citation like that. And in this kind of situation, too.

Suddenly the door opens and DI Lestrade comes in, walking straight to front of Victor.

"Victor Trevor, I'm arresting you on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping."

Sherlock jumps up and bares his teeth like an angry terrier.

"Why?", he growls, and even his unruly curls seem offended. John joins him to create a human wall between Victor and the police officer. The ceiling flashes blue every once and again - there's at least three police cars parked at the street.

"Step aside, Holmes", they hear Sally Donovan's voice, "we are here to arrest him."

"You will leave without him", Sherlock hisses, but the answer he gets, isn't what he expected. DI Greg Lestrade lays his hand fatherly on Sherlock's shoulder and squeezes. He almost forces the younger man to listen.

"Sherlock... We know that you two are married, but..."

"He did everything to keep you entertained, we imagine", Donovan finishes.

Sherlock spits at Donovan's face, punches Lestrade and grabs Victor's hand.

"John, come along!"

So they ran, ran, ran away from Baker Street and they didn't stop running before they were hidden in St. Bart's hospital's lab - the one Sherlock breaks in regularly. John pants and Victor wheezes while Sherlock just breathes. A nice Sunday walk, that one.

"Oh, God. Oh, God! What was that", Victor shouts in between of puffy gasps.

"Well... You have been framed, I punched the DI and spat at the Sergeant's face. We ran like racehorses across the city and now we are hiding here."

"Thank you, Sherlock, but I definitely noticed the running! My god, what are we going to do?" Victor sounds desperate and John shakes his head in despair.

"Good grief, Victor, don't lose your spirit! And John, how _dare_ you encourage his depressive thoughts? Am I the only one who believes in surviving?" Sherlock roars like an angry god. If he actually _was_ a god, he would have destroyed at least two forests and one mountain with that force already.

The fuming detective takes Victor's hand and doesn't let go even when John hears that Mrs. Hudson has been shot.

"You aren't coming with me, then?" John asks Sherlock, one hand on the door frame and another curled around his mobile phone. The detective shakes his head and rubs his husband's wrist soothingly.

"Alright, I'll be back as soon as possible. Don't do anything rash!"

* * *

_"Can I give you nicknames, Sherlock?"_

_"You probably will even if I tell you not to. Why do you want to?"_

_"Sometimes your name sounds like you are a sword, but... in reality, you are a Matryoshka doll."_

* * *

Victor feels how heavy is the phone he has pick-pocketed - guilt... 'Do not steal' sounds clearly in his mind and it has his mother's voice, but this was a necessity. Sherlock's phone was the only way Moriarty could contact him now... Oh, a small vibration.

"Sherlock... Sherlock! I'm terribly hungry."

"Stay here, I'm getting you a sandwich. I think I have memorized where the machines are."

Sherlock disappears behind the doors and Victor sneaks to the roof. A spider awaits.

* * *

_"Don't be a girl, Victor! It's just a tiny Argiope bruennichi, it can't harm you!"_

_"Shut up, Sherlock! It doesn't matter if it's harmless, it's still creepy!"_

_"...Should I let it live under Sebastian Wilkes' bed instead? I think the place could have the right ecosystem." _

* * *

'I should have had a camera, his face is quite something', Victor thinks and greets the criminal mastermind.

"Well, well, well. You are such an IDIOT, Moriarty, if you think I'd let you to lay a finger on my husband. Let be known that I will rip you apart."

* * *

_"Sherlock", Victor shouted when he saw the battered man in his doorway, "Sherlock! Come in, what happened?"_

_Blood. Red like Erythrina crista-galli... No, that isn't Sherlock's color at all. Should be wiped away. _

_"Reggie. He had his signet ring on. Probably just forgot."_

_Later that night Victor broke a window to soak all the stairs in Musgrave Manor with soapy water and olive oil. When he finally heard the 'crack' he smiled and hoped that Sherlock could forgive him some day. He didn't leave a trace of soap nor oil to the Manor, but still, when the Sun rose, he had a mysterious 6500 £ appear to his account._

* * *

John comes back almost running, Mrs. Hudson was alright - what was this, where's Sherlock, where's Victor - and then he sees Sherlock. The man's pale and sweaty, haunted look in his eyes.

"What's going on?"

"Victor! I left him alone for two minutes and I can't find him anywhere! If he was - "

John's phone rings and the caller ID says 'Sherlock'. Speaker phone on. "Hello?"

"John!" it's Victor's voice, agonized and dark with emotions, "John, is Sherlock with you?"

"Yes, he's next to me. What's going on?"

A sigh from the man.

"Sherlock, I'll have you know that I did all for you. All. For. You."

"Victor, what - "

"Look up, Shamrock-sauce", Victor whispers holding his sobs, "I'm here, on the rooftop."

All Sherlock can hear is something like ringing in his ears and then a inhumane howl, that he doesn't recognize to have escaped his own lips. His Victor in the mid-air, the last shared gaze and then -

his heart burns.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hmph, my beautifully parted text was all shattered when I uploaded it. I hope you managed to read it. And BTW - over 1000 views! Wow, I'm pretty confused now :-D Alright then, here's some more angst for you.**

* * *

Sherlock ignores everything and everyone. He stares at the two skulls on his lap... Two dead lovers. Sherlock doesn't talk when he hears the voice that belongs to John. Sherlock doesn't talk when Lestrade arrives and tries to be polite despite his broken nose.

* * *

_The seesaw was so fast that it made Sherlock feel like he was flying. He heard Victor's giggles come to him like a carrier pigeon and he sent his own one back to his friend._

* * *

Sherlock doesn't talk when Mycroft sends him a text via John ('I'm sorry. MH' )

He looks serene, but the silence tells everyone that he is broken. His curls are depressed too, not having energy to be as bouncy as before. His eyes aren't the color of their silver rings anymore - no, his eyes resemble more like cement walls now. The whole man has become an illusion of himself.

* * *

_"I love you, my own Shallow-shoe."_

_"I... I love you too... my Vector-tree."_

_"Oh, you're learning it too! Please, talk me more in Daftish-Catfish." _

* * *

Tea doesn't end up to his stomach.

* * *

_"Tell me, my Sheary-shepherd, what will become of us?"_

_"Happy."_

_"Happy? Yes. I think we will."_

* * *

Biscuits can fly too, before they crash to the ground. The people shout at him when he watches them from the window - some of them are just angry about the chocolate stains the thrown biscuits leave on their suits.

* * *

_Pecks like freckles, smell of fresh coffee in their breaths. Rain outside, warmness inside._

* * *

Sherlock shoots hateful glances around the flat - his experiments, the curtains, the carrots in the fridge, the wallpaper, the poster of periodic table - and he hopes for a second that he was the dead one.

He doesn't talk at all.

* * *

_Green velveteen. Blue gravestone with pieces of amber._

* * *

Sherlock doesn't talk even when Victor stands in front of him.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I had my birthday today and to celebrate that, I'll drop another chapter for you! :D **

* * *

John stares at Victor, who's just standing there, _alive_ and tugging Sherlock's curls with growing desperation. The doctor feels his head swimming - what the _hell_ is going on in here - and he takes a step further.

"What... you? Victor, what..." he doesn't find words. Sherlock doesn't find a voice.

"I'm back, as you can see. All of Moriarty's men are dead now. I ripped them apart. The things they were going to do to Sherlock... I could have killed them with my bare hands."

Sherlock turns his gaze to his Victor, who he had thought to be dead. To be the second skull on top of his mantelpiece.

"What did you use to kill them?" he croaks with horribly rough voice. How long has he been quiet?

* * *

_Victor got the criminal man to trust him, and the moment the man felt comfortable enough to turn his back to Victor... Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Revenge._

* * *

"If it wasn't my bare hands, you mean? Many weapons; crowbars, stolen guns, mostly. Sometimes a hammer drill. I pushed a man down to Niagara Falls once. And... I threw a grenade after him."

Sherlock laughs with his still hoarse voice and John throws his hands up in irritation.

"My God, you two!"

* * *

_"Viiiiiictooooor, Sheeeeeerloooock! Dinner time!" _

_"Be quiet", Victor whispered and his breath tickled Sherlock's cheek. It was important to be quiet, if they still wanted to hide in the hay-field and not be caught._

_"I can't", Sherlock half-shouted back, "I've got a mouse trying to get inside my trousers!" _

_Victor looked at their feet and he saw a tiny tail peek out from Sherlock's trouser leg. He couldn't control his laughter anymore, when his friend started jumping and shouting at the poor little beast. _

_"Aaarg, get off me, you dirty rodent!" and various other insults rang from Sherlock for minutes and suddenly - a shadow formed upon them._

_Victor's mother looked at them amusedly, but she quickly helped Sherlock with the animal. After the mouse ran away to meet with its family again, Victor's mother ruffled her son's hair. Then she shook her head._

_"My God, you two!" she laughed fondly and ushered them to wash their hands._

* * *

"I have you back", Sherlock whispers, starting to comprehend the situation. He hugs his still-alive-husband and stays there for a long time.

Suddenly he headbutts and Victor's nose starts bleeding.

"If you ever leave me again like that... Well, let's say I know my judo."

"Thanks for the warning, my dearest. But honestly, you don't have to fear... I will not abandon you. Never again."

* * *

_Sherlock fiddled with his blanket and listened to his clock's ticking. He counted his breaths._

_... tick-twenty four..._

_Alone._

_... tock-one hundred and seventy-four..._

_The colors have disappeared from the world. Everything is blank, dull. What's the point to wear clothes, either? They all are in colors he can't see without..._

_... tick-three hundred and sixty-three..._

_There's no Victor anymore._

_... tock-eight hundred and thirty-nine..._

_Lift out-of-order, please use the stairs._


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hi everyone, I'd like to thank for the nice reviews again and... *blush* I... love to write this story :-)**

* * *

"You know, Sherlock... I'm very surprised, that you allowed me to return so quickly to you." Victor pets the skull, the white skull that was supposed to be him, as if it was a cat or some other soft animal. John threw his morning paper to floor, so he could hear Sherlock's answer.

"Victor... I was so miserable without you, that I was ready to... (_There's no life inside me without you) _I'm grateful to have you back. _(Without you I am just data and digits_) If you ever, ever leave me again like that, it will be the death of me. (_I am a Matryoshka doll_)."

"Oh, Sherls. I'm sorry that I have caused you suffer! I hope you can forgive me some day..."

Sherlock raises his hand and his face is like a statue.

"I don't have words like 'forgive' in my vocabulary, but I can assure you that I have deleted everything... Including your trip to Musgrave Manor."

"Wha- you knew?"

"The moment you said 'all the pain he caused you' gave you away... It wasn't difficult to deduce... deduce a murder. You obviously are a bit mad, but then again, so am I. I would kill for you too."

* * *

_"If marshmallows could talk, what would their language be called?"_

_"Shmallowese?"_

_"Mallowish? Marshian?"_

_"Marshmallowegian."_

* * *

John looks at the two men talk, thinking slightly hysterically that he should probably make some tea - immediately - and shut his ears.

"So, John! That makes us a fine team, doesn't it?" Victor's cheerful voice chirps its way through John's thoughts.

"Team?"

"We all would kill for each others. Some of us have..."

* * *

_Bang. Revenge._

* * *

"... some of us haven't, but I think we are all getting there at some point."

* * *

_"Catch... you... later."_

_"No, you won't!"_

* * *

Sherlock chuckles a bit and pulls his husband into a hug.

"Hmm-hmmmm, Vicky-vow, I think you are right", he says and lets the grinning man go, "you and I, accompanied by my friend. Substituting the evil in world with... our influence?"

"Marshmallows, Sherlock. We substitute the evil with marshmallows."

"Excuse me, but", John stutters, trying to collect his thoughts, "just... what?"

"Don't worry, John", Sherlock says, "nothing illegal or terrifying, only the things we already do; I solve crimes, you blog about it and Victor forgets his pants."

* * *

_Victor stood there, in the middle of the Buckingham Palace, having only Sherlock's sheet wrapped around him, when Mycroft appeared in front of him. _

* * *

"My dear Sweety-sheepshanks, it's always due to you I lose my pants in first place."

Despite feeling a tad worried about the madmen's plan, John snickered as Sherlock's cheeks colored up with light rosy hue (that actually made the detective look more healthy...)


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I love writing, but sometimes I should study too... ;-) I hope my grammar's been ok so far, English isn't my native and I may mess up the phrases and idioms a bit. If you wish me to correct something about my writing, or you spot horrid mistakes, please, feel free to tell me! Thank you :-)**

* * *

John was exceptionally relieved when he learned, that their crime-fighting mission didn't include capes or shiny trousers. No, the mission plans were and will be quite simple; Sherlock solves the crimes with his brains and runs, Victor keeps him behaving almost pleasantly, John assists at the crime scenes and blogs. Simple and familiar.

The marshmallows have a role after all. The doctor smirks when he sees Victor feeding the sweets to Sherlock, completely unnoticed by the concentrating detective. 'No wonder he's been in better mood lately', John thinks, 'I wonder, how much of his anger is plainly due the low blood sugars!'

Sherlock utters a loud voice of victory and he jumps to his feet.

"We need to get the man tonight! He'll have a new victim in about two hours, if I'm not terribly mistaken."

* * *

_"... It's just a tiny Argiope bruennichi, it can't harm you!"_

* * *

"Victor? Victor, is everything alright?" Sherlock pokes his husband's cheek.

"Uhhh... I think I stood up too quickly. I saw nice colors for a second."

"Really, what colors?" Sherlock's voice is so strange... 'Oh, my head is buried in pillows, it seems.'

"I saw the color I have taken to call 'sherlock'. The nicest color..."

"Are you up to chasing that lousy criminal tonight?"

"The one with unkempt beard? God, Sherlock, always. We must bring my razor with us, I can't let the police arrest the man with a beard like that."

Marshmallows forgotten, the three walk, well, nearly tiptoe downstairs and when they exit the door, they hail a taxi in order to get to their finish line. It was like cheating in olympics, but John was quite persistent about it; no man should run around London after they just have experienced syncope.

* * *

_"Sherlock, is the Sun is yellow or white? It makes the roofs look white, but it's always drawn as yellow."_

_"You're right about that! Our Sun is a G-type star. It means that to human eye it looks like yellow, but in reality, it's actually white."_

_Victor was silent for a while, eating his sandwich with care._

_"Sometimes you look angry, but you're actually sad. Do you like yellow?"_

* * *

The serial killer sits in the police car and Sherlock is fighting with Lestrade about the forensic team's professional skills. John and Victor share a meaningful look and scoot to collect the detective with them.

"...Sherlock, I get what you are implying, but..." Angry voice of the DI. Hurry.

"Hey, aren't we ready yet, Sheer-lucky? I'm getting awfully hungry", Victor asks, ignoring the staring police officers.

"Oh, fine..." the detective sighs, "Next time, Lestrade, do think twice before you let Anderson to rampage the evidence again!"

* * *

_"Sherly, tell me about the Sun again."_

_"The Sun?"_

_"... Oh. You have deleted it."_

* * *

"So the wife got the presents from her husband?" John double-checks the facts to write a blog entry so well that Sherlock wouldn't have a reason to complain at all. That, with all honesty, was probably impossible. A man should try, anyway.

"Yes, the - "

"It's actually quite amusing, actually. Piece of jewelry as an act of peace. Peace of jewelry!" Victor giggles and Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"What a terrible pun. An atrocious one! Victor, Victor..."

John can't hold his laughter any more and after Victor's giggles join him, it doesn't take long to Sherlock's deep chuckles to emerge too.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hi, has been a while. Had to do some studying... well, to be honest, it actually was total cramming. Here are we again, though, reading my apparently never-ending story :3**

* * *

Sherlock stares at his husband with strange expression, as if he can't see him properly. It isn't anything unexpected as Victor sprawls on the sofa upside down and knits a neon yellow scarf, hiding a miniature pineapple in his pocket. The detective tries to ignore the annoying looking fruit, but after 20 minutes, he just can't do that anymore.

"Victor... What are you doing?"

"I'm making you a christmas present. This tiny pineapple here is just being a pain apple as I should make fruit salad for dessert but it's still raw."

* * *

_They were playing draughts in Sherlock's room when Mr. Holmes entered the door. The man was tall and burly, and his face always carried a stern look... if you saw it through the humongous beard. _

_"Sherlock, your mother has shouted at least three times 'it's dinner time'. Are you two deaf?"_

* * *

"Ah", the detective says with a mocking tone, "so your logic told you, that if the chickens and eggs..."

"Yes! I believe we can still have our healthy dessert with pineapple and vanilla ice cream... And the dessert after." Victor quits his knitting and flashes a 60 W smile, obviously hinting something that John wishes he could ignore.

* * *

_Victor licked his sandwich and Sherlock felt oddly uncomfortable._

_"Sherls, do you think goat cheese actually tastes like goats?" Victor asked, lips shining due the melting butter. _

_"I can't think of anything", Sherlock heard himself answer and the second he shut his mouth, he wanted to smack himself. Nevertheless, Victor smiled cunningly and whispered; "And why might that be, genius?"_

* * *

John smiles at the two love birds, but feels a sting of jealousy - why can't he find a relationship like that - which, however, disappears quickly. The two are actually quite scary with their intensity.

"Victor", he hears Sherlock mumble almost shyly, "why do you even like me?"

"Oh, Sherlock! I have been a horrible husband, if you don't know that by now! I like you, because your name tastes like blackcurrant on my tongue. I love you because your eyes have a hue that reminds me of blue roan horses. I will always be grateful to die for you, because you are my own Matryoshka doll. My marshmallow. My bumblebee."

* * *

_"Vi, are you hungry? I could get us a free cherry pie if you are."_

_"Why are you asking? I'm always hungry. You know I could eat a bucketful of..."_

_"Yes, yes. Please, don't remind me of that, it was disgusting!"_

_"I'm starving, Shuttery-shine. Star-wing. Wings with star patterns on them."_

* * *

Sherlock lands on his knees in front of Victor and John sees the change in his eyes, something very subtle, but still able to be seen.

"Victor, Victor..." Sherlock tries to shout, but there's nothing else left than miserable breathes without any air, "please, don't die for me! Victor, not any more. Not for me..."

* * *

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. _

_There's. No. Vic-tor._

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

_There's. No. Vic-tor._

* * *

Victor holds Sherlock for a long time, whispering all the kinds of names for 'Sherlock' he could come up with. It was the desperate "Shingle-spurry" that finally calmed the blubbering detective back to breathing.

"Please, Vi, don't die for me", he tries to continue his pleads, but is silenced by a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Shhh... Take some deeeeeeep breathes for me... That's better, my Shanty-shallot..."

* * *

_Tick. Tock._

* * *

"But... But I deleted the memory, I shouldn't be able to remember your death anymore", Sherlock squeaks and John prays he still has tranquilizers in his medical supplies.

"Sherls, keep breathing! You know, I've never been too fond of that 'deleting' of yours. It doesn't seem very healthy," Victor murmurs into Sherlock's dark curls while the expressionless man confines his flooding feelings back to order again.

* * *

_Vic-tor._

* * *

A young woman with a strange case saves them all; a secondary school music teacher, afraid of the man who is always following her. Sherlock Holmes jumps at Work and his two loyal friends follow him to a laborious countryside trip.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thanks for the review again, it always makes me happy to see my story awakens some thoughts :) **

* * *

The case is becoming a bit boring, but Sherlock doesn't find himself desperately graving for action and speed. No, not when there is John, bowl of fresh cherries, and a living husband beside him.

* * *

_On halfway of their fourteenth picnic Sherlock was already gasping for air, having already forgotten how the fit of laughter had even started. _

_The sensation of stretching lips was so very strange for him, that he had to touch his cheeks. _

* * *

"Have you found the solution yet, Sherls?"

Victor's chin is shiny and red with cherry juice and the detective simply has to wipe the moisture off with his napkin. _'These are actually quite nice napkins', _he catches himself think and he has to fight the urge to hit his own forehead. Victor obviously is bad influence after all, with his obsession to colors and words. Napkin, napkin, napkin, kin to a nap. Doesn't make any sense.

* * *

_When he managed to calm down, he listened how their mothers had joined them too with their soft, silent voices. Despite the day being incredibly cloudy and dark, even years later, he would remember the moment as The Moment He Discovered His Dimples._

* * *

"I have two ideas", he admits, "but we can't do anything but sit and wallow in uselessness until tomorrow. Victor, napkins?"

John is confused as usually, and Victor smiles widely while he stuffs three cherries into the blonde doctor's bottle of nasty, cheap beer.

"Napkin... napkin... nap with my kin."

* * *

_"Look, Sherlock! Look at my canned pear halves! Oh sail, my slippery boats, juicy, sugary sculls..." _

_Victor's mother shook her head and handed her son a brightly yellow napkin. The very same yellow as the daffodils around them._

* * *

John sips his beer and lets a surprised bleat escape his lips when he gets his mouth full of mushy cherries. Sherlock snorts very not-sophisticatedly and hides his mischievous smile behind two palms.

* * *

_"Victor," the curly haired boy whispered tiredly, "do you ever find it impossible to sleep?"_

_"Yes, of course! There are so many things to sing about and then there's no darkness left when I stop. I can't sleep if there's bright light around my eyes."_

_"But Vi, I take three pills every evening, but I still can't sleep. Is there something wrong with me?"_

_The other boy thought very hard. He thought until the old grandfather clock in the hallway gave a reminder of them being awake too late._

_"I think you have too many doctors, when you should have only one."_


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hmm, one could think that now it's summer I'd have more time to write... But sometimes, ice cream and bird watching win.**

* * *

"Victor, you have too much time to just loiter here! Why aren't you working", Sherlock's irritated voice echoes to the front door when DI Lestrade is let in by John.

"Hush now, Sweetie-pie. Summer holidays, remember? Stop avoiding me like a frightened squirrel and eat your meal!" Victor grumbles, turning from Victor the Husband into Mr. Trevor the Teacher in just few seconds. Alarming sounds follow. Wondering, what will they see, John and Lestrade enter the living room and immediately when the policeman's eyes register the sight, he decides that he'll remember it, perhaps to perform it as Christmas party entertainment.

The lanky detective is pinned to floor by a sofa and there is a plate full of food in front of him, a fork standing about a centimeter away from his lips. Victor, still waving the fork, smirks at the two men standing in the doorway.

"Hello, John, Grrrrrrregory. I'm feeding Sherlock here."

"Yes", Lestrade stutters, "I can see that..."

* * *

_"...'lock, Sherlock!" _

_His teacher's voice interrupted his thoughts and when he raised his gaze, he saw that all fourteen pairs of eyes were staring at him. _

_"Well, we are waiting for your answer, Sherlock."_

* * *

Victor pokes his husband's cheek and smiles a little.

"Come on, Special! It's all vegetarian, and I made sure it has nothing icky on it."

Sherlock whines. Actually whines, like a two-year-old kid would whine while taking a spoonful of cod-liver oil. It seems John finds it as hilarious as the gray-haired policeman next to him does, but they both try to stop their sniggering before they even emerge.

"But Victoooooor", the trapped man complains, "mushrooms _are_ icky! Sickening and slimy, disgusting! I'm going to _vomit_ if I have to eat one."

* * *

_"We are waiting."_

* * *

Victor disappears to the kitchen for a while and when he returns, he has an another plate in his hands.

"Alrighty then, my Almighty. Let's try this one, will we? Smashed potatoes with salt and butter."

* * *

_"We are waiting, Sherlock. Repeat the question for me."_

* * *

The detective huffs irritatedly and pokes the plump of mushy potato with his tongue.

* * *

_"Well, it seems, Sherlock, that once again you have been daydreaming instead of listening your teacher."_

* * *

"More butter, it's too lumpy!"

"Alllright... one, twooo, three teaspoons of butter. There, is this acceptable?"

His tongue wanders again to meet with the potato, and a tiny squeal of happiness could be heard from Victor.

"I could eat that", Sherlock had admitted after three hours sweaty work in kitchen and five day's worth of dishes.

* * *

_"Hi Sherly! How was your day?"_

_"Hi Vi. Oh, it was... alright." _

_"A bad alright, it seems. I know what should un-sad you. Come with me!"_

* * *

The plate becomes empty and Victor lifts the sofa to set his finally fed husband free. However, Sherlock stays laying on the floor and apparently sulks for being forced to eat just before a case - _This will slow my thinking!_ - and John thinks it's best for him and the DI to just watch some telly while the angriest consulting detective in the world is holding back his snarls and rumbles.

* * *

_Victor held his friend's hand tightly in his own until they arrived to their destination. They were now standing under an enormous _Salix alba, so huge, _that not a single ray of light was touching the ground in four yard radius. _

_"See, it's night here in our own kingdom..." _

_"Victor", Sherlock giggled, "we need to name our kingdom!"_

* * *

Victor takes a history book from his suitcase and starts to read it out loud.

"Extending 6,437 kilometers, the Silk Road..."

Sherlock sighs and gets ready for Work.

* * *

_"How about Marshmalloway?"_

_"Let's settle on Marshmallowia."_


End file.
